Follow the MockingJay

It feels wrong to write something negative about the awkwardly titled Hunger Games; MockingJay, Part 1. There's a phenomenal amount of stellar writing, locked-and-loaded acting, crisp photography and haunting images in this penultimate movie of the best of the innumerable dystopian-whatever teeny franchises. In the theatre I saw a trailer for the second Divergent flick, which is related to this film in the way poodles and wolves technically share an ancestor. There's a ferocity and a specificity underlying the Hunger Games that the many imitators lack. Suzanne Collins' novels are raging about the state of our culture and in particular our media, the soullessness and patheticness of what we're becoming. The films don't play quite as rough (have to protect that PG13), but the rage remains. This is a brutally efficient movie. It's the creak of a bowstring as the arrow is drawn back, the oiled click of a rifle bolt. And that's the issue. For two hours we sit and watch and wait for the arrow to fly. But not yet, and that can't help but be unsatisfying.

Like the 7th and 8th Harry Potter films, the decision to split the Hunger Games finale is driven by money. That earlier franchise went out of its way to re-invent the penultimate film, with mostly positive results. Harry Potter and the Whatever, Part 1, is a road movie in a fairly constrained series, a gorgeous meditation on friendship and struggle, something unique in that world. It is, to my mind, the most patient and adult of the series, and works independently as a lovely tone poem at feature length. The Hunger Games doesn't have the opportunity for so much differentiation. The stage may be different, but the orchestra is playing the same notes. Arrows fly, pain spikes, Jennifer Lawrence runs and rages. All expertly executed, all mesmerising to watch. But what you aren't sure is how to feel afterwards.

It says something about this series that, when tasked with filling two new and fairly important roles, it called upon the great actors Michael K. Williams and Julianne Moore. These are not people accustomed to wasting their time in pointless or unchallenging projects. Williams is a model of strength, charisma, and no little wry humor. Moore has the bigger and flashier role. It makes me eternally happy that Phillip Seymour Hoffman spent many of his final scenes sparring with her. In the next film, Moore and Donald Sutherland will hopefully have the chance to spit a lot of ice at each other. You'll notice the pattern here; In the next movie….

The actors are so good that we almost don't notice how little is happening. Except, oddly, for Lawrence. She's never less than appealing, but it occurs to me that she's called upon to do a lot more acting in this film than the predecessors. Those movies called on her to explode under pressure, to play fear and adrenaline and fury. This movie is quieter, and she spends much of it sparring with actors who, for the moment, may be a bit out of her weight class. It's a more internal role, politics rather than war. She comes alive with the bow, snarling lines into a camera. There's an amusing scene of Katniss struggling to act. I wish it didn't hit so close.

This is a powerful film, loaded with the kind of imagery that in lesser hands would feel exploitative. It evokes Naziism and Slavery. Its subject is the power of media and spectacle to distort the worldview of the watcher, subject and object twisting about one another until the results are horrifyingly unrecognizable. Katniss is given a camera crew and we wonder only why it took so long. She is the ultimate star, her authenticity carefully drawn out and recorded in pre-selected war zones.

Notice that when the camera requires a still subject, someone to stand and talk as diversion for a geurilla raid, the crew turns to Finnick. He is a broken man, but switches on for the show and plays his role flawlessly. Katniss is the opposite. She can only be herself in the desperation of combat, and if a camera happens to be nearby, then so much the better. The movie places her in danger and pain over and over, but only to run in circles. Her frustration feeds into the authenticity. When she destroys a hovercraft, it's the most genuine she's been in ages. The MockingJay is a fighter, not meant to be caged. She is a creature of action and dynamism. One wishes that the movie would act accordingly.

Draw Back Your Bow

Even in the choppy early days, Arrow had all the markers of something special. Beyond the spectacular fight scenes, gleam-of-sin choreography, and sneakily excellent acting, the show always had a certain edge juuust on the right side of arrogance. Consider the strength of its' early choice to make Oliver Queen a complete asshole. How many shows would make the protagonist an emotionally distant, stone-cold killer, and yet have the confidence to allow the audience to grow fond of him over an extended rampage through both Starling city and the emotional lives of its' wealthiest citizens? That, my friends, takes the big brass arrowheads. Still, the first season was bumpy, suffering from a combination of cliched plots, inconsistent character work, and perhaps a bit too much suspension of disbelief even for a show about a bow-weilding master assassin saving a city.

These are issues, yes, but common to every young show trying to fill 23 hour-long episodes (which is a whole lot of content). By the end of season 1, which brought a simmering plot to volcanic boil and unleashed the great John Barrowman as a lethal villain, we could see maturity and confidence to match the early swagger.

Season 2 was simply fucking magnificent. Operatic, profoundly emotional, expanding on every strength (seriously, this show has the best action on tv and somehow does that on a CW budget) and eliminating every weakness, I'd argue that Arrow S2 was legitimately one of the best things on television. It isn't a deep show, or particularly full of insights into the human condition, other than the efficiency of ending same through a well-placed broad-head, but as a blast of adrenaline and fun there's really nothing to match it.

So, what the hell is happening now? I praised the show for three paragraphs to highlight the awesomeness we've seen and that I have every confidence we'll see again. But man, the third season has been rough. I'd diagnose the problem first as a lack of stakes. Sara Lance was a fascinating character, but her occupation and the cough-and-you'll-miss-it nature of her death have diluted the impact of what should've been a crushing event. More importantly, I don't believe for an instant the way our protagonists have reacted. Sara was probably the closest thing to a love of Oliver Queen's screwed-up life. He's been conducting business a bit too close to the usual to be believable. Yes, the man locks his emotions as coasts lock an ocean, but come on. Would the Oliver who hunted Slade Wilson have given up on finding Sara's killer so quickly?

Actually, the only character whose reaction I believe is the show's worst; Laurel. Arrow has never quite known what to do with the local pole-up-ass alcoholic DA, and the choice to have her assume the mantle of her vastly more interesting sister is, simply, an error. Imagine an arc based on Sara hunting Laurel's murderer, even as she tries to continue her journey towards morality and a life with Oliver. Wouldn't that be fun? Instead, we get to see Laurel's flirt-boxing with the ruggedly appealing Ted (Wildcat) Grant, and what I'm sure will be disastrous early adventures in crime-stopping. I don't want to sound too negative, because the plot is well-handled and the actors are doing very fine work, but Laurel is correct when she calls herself unworthy of being the Canary.

 Actually, these are my issues in a nutshell. There's nothing particularly wrong with Arrow S3 thus far. The show hasn't forgotten how to stage a fight, characters continue to evolve, and we've gotten a lot of wildly enjoyable moments sprinkled in with the boredom. But, coming off what I'd call the single best stretch of episodes in the history of superhero television, something so shapeless and low-key has to feel like a disappointment. I'd like to think there's a longer game here, something besides the constipated looks Oliver and Felicity keep exchanging, but I'm not sure. Ray Palmer showed early promise as a potential villain, but he's nothing beyond a bundle of tics. Brandon Routh is so charismatic that the character hasn't worn out his welcome, but if he could stop fucking around and actually do something, that would be immensely appreciated. Same goes for Thea, Nyssa, and (especially) Malcolm and Ra's. These are compelling characters played by good-to-great actors, but there's only so many times John Barrowman can snarl threats without killing anyone before the Magician starts to feel like smoke and mirrors.

I still have hope. This is a show at the peak of its powers on a technical level. The recurring cast is rich with dramatic possibilities, and the leads are assured and accomplished emotional centers. Individual moments still sing. Isla Corta is a beautiful little caper flick full of flickering quicksilver emotion. Malcolm and Nyssa spitting venom made me cackle with glee. Ray Palmer is up to something, even if he doesn't seem to be sure what. What we're missing is that note of Opera, the apocalyptic whisper of Slade Wilson's sword clearing the sheath, the thud of boots as masked archers dance across a rooftop. It's time for Arrow to let itself fly.